Demons Don't Feel, But Humans Do
by Metis
Summary: When Dante finds himself in an odd position, and when Trish runs off, alone and unarmed into the darkness--what can be expected? [dantextrish]
1. Demons Don't Feel, But Humans Do

  
  
_Title: _ Demons Don't Feel, but Humans do  
_By:  _Metis  
_E-mail  _m_metis@hotmail.com  
_Rating:_  PG-13  
_Comments:  _Some elements have been changed   
  


Demons Don't Feel, But Humans Do

  
  
  
"You've got another customer."  
  
  


Standing, Dante's silvery hair glistened fervently in the evening moon. It gave him the surreal aspect of a deadly angel. He lips tugged at the thought. An angel...   
  


Trish watched all this with a trained eye. There was something odd about Dante--his usually deadly eyes were glazed with an emotion she couldn't quite place. She stiffened. At times, Trish felt intimidated by the young man's towering ominous form. Sure, they'd worked together many times, but that guaranteed her little given the fact he was a demon. Or rather say, part demon. 

Dante trudged on methodically, not troubled by Trish's sudden string of silence.  She knew well he found conversations rather dull, and more often than not, she'd been smart enough to back off when he had thrown the right signals.  

He glanced at her through long shaggy bangs.  She was in a rather pensive mood--perhaps...

Shaking his head, Dante peered warily at his surroundings.  A cementary.  Not the best place to be at midnight--or at any time.  Especially when Dante's demon half seemed to give off a certain scent, pinpointing his location to enemy marionettes.

His ears picked up a faint trace of rustling leaves.  He paused.  Trish continued on, oblivious to the noise which only Dante's sensitive ears could hear.  Eyes narrowing, he continued, hands taut against the holster of his gun.  

Realizing her partner was sagging further and further behind, Trish slowed her pace, all senses now at an extremely vigilant stage.  "Dante..." she began, "the exit's to our left."

Nodding, he stealthily veered off, careful not to snap any twigs or lash out violently at the wrong opponent.  Dante could feel Trish's confident presence behind him, and felt gladdened her slight show of uncertainty had passed.  

The two soon reached a bank surrounded by a thick canopy of trees.  Trish blinked harshly, begging her eyes to adjust easily to the darkness.  She knew well Dante's sight was far better than hers, and Trish hated more than anything to seem incompetent to others, so, being as stubborn as she was, she continued on, pretending she could see fine and dandy in the darkness.

Stopping suddenly, and fooled by Trish's act, Dante was a bit surprised at feeling a small weight bump into him.  He turned and gazed curiously at the lifeform, an inevitable smirk making its way to his face.

"You could have..."

"Shh--"

Dante's brow burrowed.  Had she heard something he hadn't?  Furthermore, in his impulsive berate, the demon mercenary hadn't realized he had been pinned into a rather awkward position by Trish.  

Though she stood almost a foot shorter, Trish was, no doubt, a strong woman.  What he puzzled over, however, was not only her strength, but how she'd managed to press him against the bark of a tree without his noticing it.

"Don't speak," she whispered softly, her voiced sensuously glazed, "they might hear you."

Dante felt himself nod somewhat numbly before an ear piercing screech cut through the darkness.  Trish, who was still unaccustomed to the thrashing screams of marionette victims, jerked abruptly. 

The young man pulled her close, knowing full well that the chatter of her teeth, as well as the shaking of her limbs would beckon demons their way.

Trish, however, took little  note, as she was too busy trying to slow both her breathing and heart to a normal rate.  "Dante?" she asked, pressing closer to his chest.

"Are...Are you gonna fight them?"

Dante was astonished at her tone.  Glancing down at the small being cuddled in his arms, he realized for the first time the fear and vulnerability evident in Trish's eyes.  He shook the thoughts away.  Of course he would fight them.

"You can either stay or leave.  If you leave then don't bother coming back--I will no longer have a use for you."

Trish's eyes hardened, pulling away from Dante with a violent push, she plunged into the darkness bent on destroying any demon who came her way; whether it be marionettes...or Dante.

End of Chapter 1

Chapter 2 will be up in 2 or 3 days.

Thanks!


	2. Cheap Tears

_Comments__:_Some elements have been changed   
  


_*Chapter 2—Cheap Tears*_

While running away from Dante had made the best sense at the moment, Trish was now having second thoughts.  The fact that she was unarmed, lost, and did not seem at all intimidating was helping her little.  

"Stupid demon," she muttered crossly while kicking a stone out of her path."

Immediately she scolded herself.  _'Keep calm, Trish, don't forget...they can feel vibrations--'_

The damage, however, had already been done.  Marionettes integrated out of nowhere, limping, shrieking, and all but herding towards her.

Biting her lower lip, Trish backed away hesitantly into the darkness.  Dante.  Where was Dante?  Shouldn't he be able to detect those blasted demons just as easily as they were able to detect him, or was that ability limited only to full-bred hellborn?  She smiled bitterly.  Of all the qualities not to have…

"Da..ante--" Trish breathed out, unsure if speaking loudly would further attract the marionettes.  Dropping to her knees, the young woman lightly patted the ground, eager to find anything that might serve as a weapon.

"Shit!" she cursed violently, cringing as blood oozed through a fresh cut in her wrist.  

Before she had a chance to further glare down the guilty rock, Trish became aware that the marionettes had stopped their advance.  Their deformed faces upturned, they began to sniff feverishly.

'No...Oh no--' 

Dante's eyes widened despite himself…that  metallic aroma—he had little doubt about it, that smell was blood.  Pushing down the familiar desire to take a human life, Dante bounced back to reality.  Blood?  No demon could bleed—at least not blood that pure, no—the scent he had picked up had definitely been human blood.  But—there…

'Trish!' 

Dashing through the woods like a beast propelled by its prey, Dante thrashed around viciously, paying attention only to his instincts—and his remarkable sense of smell. 

It was not long before he found her, backed into a tree and holding a bleeding wrist to her chest.  Though alarmed, Dante noticed she had managed to keep much of the marionettes at bay with a crude branch.

_'Trish...'_

Suddenly aware of the presence of another, Trish lifted her gaze upwards.  She paused, her breath momentarily leaving her body as she caught sight of his towering form.  Trish had always admired Dante from afar—but never before had she been aware of how beautiful he was, and now, even as he fought, he had an air of fairness about him.  And he stood there, demon half taking over pitilessly as he used Alastor to slice every dead being to shreds.  Trish found herself enthralled by his demonic persona; there was a certain beauty and grace in his every action—in the way his wrist supported the weight of his sword…in the way his eyes would blaze a scandalous red in his anger…in the way he would impatiently push away silvery tresses from his eyes…

Having finished the battle, and sure no other enemy was left, Dante turned to Trish and scanned her for injuries.  Aside from the swollen wound running the entire length of her wrist, there were none.  Feeling the familiar demonic desire for blood within him return, Dante shook his head briskly and stretched his arm in her direction.

"Give me your hand."

"Dante...I--"

"I didn't ask you for explanations--I said to give me you hand!"

Trish, a bit surprised at Dante's outbreak, outstretched her arm, wincing as blood pulsed evenly out it.  Letting out a low whistle, Dante eyed her wearily.  The way things were, she'd end up giving every blasted citizen of the underworld a vibrant blood trail to follow.  He had to heal her.

"Close you eyes, Trish."

Obediently, the young girl closed her eyes.  However, despite Dante's apparent attempt at gentleness, Trish let out a small whimper as his fingertips slid over and around the cut, rubbing and poking it in various places as if experimenting.  Then, summoning his strength as he had done many times before, Dante let his hands emanate the power handed down upon him at birth.

After a few seconds, Dante dropped his hand, turned, and trudged forward.  "Come on, I'm not in the mood to fight for the rest of the night."

Trish swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and faced Dante with defiance.  "But, Dante--"

"What?" he gritted out, not at all interested in starting a conversation.

Raising her chin in obstinence, Trish turned her back on him and spoke, "I can take care of myself--I will no longer be of help to you..."

"Fine.  Just don't bother coming in the middle of the night, shrieking to be left alone by marionettes. "

"What?"

Dante sighed and rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes wearily.  "They know you now, Trish.  Your smell.  Your fear of them.  They know how you look, places you frequent--everything.  If you leave now you'll end up seeing them again on your way home."

Stiffening, Trish pretended not to care for what she had been told.  "I have no fear of them, Dante.  And if I do encounter them, I shall do what I can.  Do not think I will come and ask for your assistance."

Dante let himself smile.  If there was anyone who could see through her ill plated facade, it was he.  Trish was the easiest person to read, and at times, extremely vulnerable in his eyes. 

Like now, for example.

The two had walked into a dark alleyway, quiet and cross.  Dante lead the way, while Trish sagged behind, taking care of the back.  Halfway through, however, Dante felt her body press close to him, her breathing erratic and rapid.  She was afraid.  Or was it something else?  He wondered...

Stopping abruptly, Dante tugged on Trish's arm with moderate strength.  Not expecting to be pulled, and much to the demon's luck, she lost her balance and ended up in his arms, red faced but knowing well what he was up to.

"Is that the way it is, Dante?"

"Perhaps," came the hoarse answer, coupled with a gentle nip at her ear.  Not satisfied with is response, Trish prompted impishly, "Perhaps?  Now, Dante...when did you begin to develop tact?"

Smirking at her comment, but not particularly bothered by it, Dante pulled her closer, feeling the silver pendant that perpetually hung around her neck slightly graze his cheek.  Catching Trish off guard, Dante leisurely pressed his lips against her collarbone, enjoying the small gasp that escaped her lips.

Liking the contact, Trish was quick to hide her surprise and opted instead for angling her head, giving him more room to experiment.  Much to her disappointment, however, Dante took that opportunity to break away.  He surveyed his prey jealously and unconsciously licked his lips.  _His _prey.  Smiling somewhat bitterly, he pressed another ravaging kiss to her lips before turning away.

Frustrated at the silver-haired youth's quick end to the session, Trish ran quivering fingertips over her mouth, wiping at it absently.  Dante caught the action and brought his eyebrows together, frowning almost undetectably at her dismissal.  Or, at least, at what he though had been a dismissal. 

"You give up too quickly, Dante," Trish commented once her breathing returned to normal, hastily turning in hopes of hiding her blush.  The young man shook his head in slight resentment, the image of her rubbing off her lips still fresh in his memory.  

"There's nothing to give up on, Trish," came the cold reply, product, no doubt, of his belief that she had found his kiss distasteful.  Though insulted by his last words, Trish managed to remain calm.  She had always known that the best way to attack Dante was through indifference.

Though insulted by his last words, Trish managed to remain calm.  She knew the best way to attack Dante was through indifference.

*    *    * 


	3. Demon's Regrets

_Title:_ Demons Don't Feel, but Humans do

_Chapter title:_ Demon's Regrets  
_By:_Metis  
_E-mail  _m_metis@hotmail.com 

_Rating:_  PG-13  
_Comments__:_*sigh* The long-awaited 3rd Chapter… I know, it took a year…

But guys, rejoice for I have reconnected with my 'writing' self.  Hope you guys like.  
  


_*Chapter 3—Demon's Regrets*_

It was only natural.  Trish shifted in the overflowing tub and stretched absently as her aching muscles relaxed against the constant lash of warm water.  It was only natural that she felt drained.  Except that…she _never_ felt drained.  

Detachedly, she lathered her supple body with bubbly soap and tried to recall exactly what had happened after she had forcefully gone home with Dante the night before.  However, try as she might, the memory eluded her.  Trish sighed and dipped herself lower into the inviting bath.  She could worry about that later.  

She guessed Dante was still in his blasted 'office', taking in requests and fulfilling them faster than his victims cared to know.  As far as Trish was concerned, Dante was a bit out of it.  Sure, he had his reasons for being so eccentric—fact that he was half-demon being one of them, but a lot of times Dante did things for no apparent reason, and that irked her.  

Trish was the kind of person that wanted reasons to justify an action, and quite frankly, Dante did just about anything _but_ justify himself.  At one point, he had actually complained she was 'too righteous'.  Well, Trish had shrugged in admittance--she _did_ tend to be more honorable than was necessary.

Shifting again, Trish groaned when a sharp knock interrupted her peaceful relaxation.  She tried to ignore it at first, thinking it was probably just her imagination, or maybe an overactive marionette.  She smiled a bit at the thought.  

"Trish!!"  That time, the knock was accompanied by an aggravated tone of voice belonging to none other than Dante.  

Drawing in a deep breath, Trish submerged herself underneath the balmy water before relenting to the young man's call.  She was halfway out of the tub, top exposed, when the bathroom door was forcefully thrown open.  

There stood Dante, tall and overbearing in his usual dark attire, face only slightly bewildered, hair askew.  He studied her for a moment among the splintered pieces that had been the bathroom door, before looking away, a slight blush in his pale cheeks.  

Momentarily, Trish thought she was in some sort of twilight zone.  Dante…blushing?  Well, that was certainly what it looked like.  

So startled was Trish at Dante's small show of 'humanity', that she remained fixed on the spot, chest rising and falling slowly as she took in the scene before her.  Then, just as suddenly as the half-demon had burst in through the door, a draft of cold air rushed in, making Trish shiver as the cold water of the tub lapped unsympathetically against the prickling skin of her waist.

Biting her lower lip to keep her teeth from chattering, Trish rose tentatively out of the bath, trying her best to look nonchalant as she brushed past Dante towards the cabinet.  Once there, she made idle work at finding a clean towel to wrap about herself.  Fully clothed and only slightly denigrated, Trish turned curiously towards Dante.  

"What was that all about?" she asked, her voice surer than she felt.

"I thought you were dead," came the reply, the voice cold despite the underlying meaning of the words.  Making sure that she was fully clad, Dante shot the girl a quick glimpse before turning his body in her direction once more.  

"You've been in here a long time."

Trish raised an uninterested eyebrow.  So, Dante had been—what was the word—oh, _concerned_ about her?  

"It's only been ten minutes, Dante," she pressed, knowing full well how ridiculous the entire situation was, and how entirely absurd was the fact that she was pursuing it.

"You could've been torn limb from limb by marionettes in less than that time, Trish."

Trish was about to open her mouth to complain when she caught her name falling from his lips.  Sure, he had called her Trish several times before, but this time it had been different…his tone had been almost uncomfortable.  But uncomfortable in the sense that it expressed worry on his part—something he certainly was not used to expressing.  Dante had been in the mercenary trade for quite a while, and anybody with even half a brain could tell another that caring for someone—however minor the affection—in their line of business was dangerous not only to oneself, but to the person for whom the concern was felt.

"Relax, Dante," Trish murmured, bending forward to towel dry her hair, "So they know me, big deal.  We've dealt with them before, it's a piece of cake, Dante."

Despite knowing her comment would ignite a fiery comeback from Dante, Trish was surprised to find that he remained quiet.  Warily, she lifted her eyes to his.  "What is it?"

Again, the young demon chose silence over words.  

Trish's patience was slowly thinning, and as much as she hated to admit it, Dante's silence was starting to unnerve her.  It just wasn't like him.  Dante was a loner, yes, and he often preferred silence to conversation; but he had never hesitated to joke with her, however satiric his remarks were.  

"What is it, Dante?"

"You've been infected."

Infected?  Trish drew in a deep breath.  She knew what the word meant: infected; she just didn't think she was up to understanding what the implied message was.  

"Last night," Dante continued in his drawling tone, "when you slashed your wrist on that rock…They caught your scent, but they also managed to—I don't think I can explain this the right way—"

Trish craned her head sideways, eager to hear whatever it was Dante had to say no matter how deadly the message.  Vaguely, she picked up a spare towel and began to glide it carelessly over her body, eyes fixed on Dante's tall form.  

"Explain.  I'm not so dense as to not understand."

Dante nodded to her request, silvery hair landing in unruly waves on his face.  Folding his arms about his chest, the demon rested his weight upon the threshold of the door and closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts.  "Well," he began, "I'm sure you've heard those classical stories of possession…"

At Trish's sound of approval, Dante continued, "Well, to say the least, the entire phenomenon has been overrated; you can't be completely psychologically controlled.  However, you are completely deprived of the control of your physical body.  To put it mildly, you can be forced to kill while consciously aware of what you're doing and not necessarily agreeing to it.  It's harmless, really—unless of course the demons find it of their whim to bring injury to the one they are controlling…Ahh—I guess you can say…Demons don't really have minds of their own; their like petulant children.  They do things because they 'feel like it'—no real reason.  So, naturally, everything's all right until they grow tired of torturing that particular person.  Other times though—they find other reasons to continue the 'torture'—usually because of the attention that is brought to them.  In this case, you're the main issue."

"Me?"  Trish exclaimed, still not sure how Dante's entire synopsis had anything to do with him.  

"They find you…interesting, Trish."

"Interesting, how?"

Dante shifted his weight uneasily and stiffened by his position against the wall, "Well, they find your relation to me, especially interesting.  And—rest assured, they'll take advantage of that.  Chances are they won't grow tired of tormenting you any time soon.  At least not while they know you and I are close.  A chance to kill me is worth millions in the demonic world—if you think of it money-wise."

"So…You mean that they're going to use me to kill you—even though I would retaliate?"

Nodding, Dante bore his eyes into those of the girl, "You won't know, Trish—they won't be in front of you…your blood—they know it.  At all times they know where you are.  They can _feel_ you in a sense.  They can control you from afar.  I—I don't know how to make you understand…it's a kind of thing you can't understand until you've either seen it or felt."

"Dante…"

Trish trailed off, unsure of how to continue.  If she understood correctly, she was a liability to him.  At any given moment, she could unconsciously attack him; hurt him.  Maybe it would be better is she just disappeared for a while—lay low and far from Dante.

"No, Trish—you can't leave because, again, they _know_ you.  Trish, they can practically _sniff_ you out, and they would were you not a game to them!  The longer it  takes for them to find and use you, the more enticing and challenging the game.  It's all a game, Trish—and you're virtually a pawn."

Trish sighed defeatedly.  Try and try as she might, every time she was with Dante, Trish ended up feeling like a burden.  She hated the feeling; Trish had always been independent, always used to doing things her way and without relying on anybody.  "Can I just—"

"No."

Growling, Trish ground her teeth.  There was very little she could do but agree, and as much as she hated playing the part of the 'damsel in distress' it seemed that at that point, she really was.

Hope that was all right, guys…


	4. Human's Frailty

_Title:_ Demons Don't Feel, but Humans do

_Chapter title:_ Demon's Regrets  
_By:_Metis  
_E-mail  _m_metis@hotmail.com 

_Rating:_  PG-13  
_Comments__:_  Hmm…not many comments.  As to why the marionettes have so much

 powers—they don't.  I described them as acting as 'petulant children'.  In a sense,

the only reason they are so powerful is because they act in packs and inspire such

fear.  At least, that's what _I _think…

*  Some elements have been changed  *  
  


_*Chapter 3—Frailty*_

She was infected.  Dante shook his head in an action that was unlike him.  He should have known it would happen.  Being in their trade, and dealing with the kind of people they dealt with, it had only been a matter of time before something of the sort happened.  But still, it had happened to _Trish._  

Gliding silently towards his 'bed', Dante sat upon its edge and pulled out a thick, dusty old book.  It's binding was frail and torn, looking like it would fall and break at any given time.  A slight smile crossed Dante's stoic features and he gingerly pulled open the book, eyes alighting on the first page.  However, he had no sooner read through the first paragraph, that Trish burst through the door…_without_ knocking.

Dante raised curious eyes, silvery tresses falling into his face as he did so.  Trish was still dressed in only a flimsy towel, surprising since he had left her in the bathroom for more than thirty minutes--not to mention that she wasn't the type to walk into his bedroom unannounced.  The half demon also noted something else was out of place—Trish wasn't wearing her pendant.  

Leisurely, Dante picked himself off his bed, careful to place the archaic book hidden away beneath the confines of his mattress.  He had no sooner risen off his elbows, however, that Trish took an inhumane leap beside him.  Dante narrowed his eyes.

"What's wrong, Dante?" she asked, nails curling painfully against the skin of his wrist.  

Trying to shake her off, and finding it difficult, Dante growled for her to let him go.  "Why should I?" she asked then, stretching so that her back arched seductively and her breasts seemed larger than they were.  Despite himself, Dante let his gaze travel apprehensively over her body.  Though a demon, Dante was also a man, and that part of him was unwilling to look away so hastily.  

"Trish," Dante began, finally wrenching his eyes away from her luscious breasts, "why are you in here?"

Trish seemed hurt at the question, but flashed a dangerous smile just the same, "Company."

About to complain, Dante was silenced by an unexpected kiss from Trish.  He had longed for that…He hated to admit it, but ever since that moment when he had rescued her from the marionettes and they had shared a kiss, he had wanted to touch her lips all over again.  But why now?  Why hadn't she responded to him earlier—in the bath, or even before that, when he had first kissed her…?

Oh, who cared?  Dante felt Trish's body mold heatedly into his, legs astride on his abdomen—arms pinning him roughly against the headboard.  He wanted to touch her…caress her, but she was holding him so tightly he could scarcely move.  The demon in him was telling Dante to stop, yet the man had already been miserably enslaved by the promise of fulfilled pleasure…

Slowly, Trish's lips left Dante's and cruised further down his jaw…to his neck…and then back up to his earlobe.  "Breathe," she murmured amusedly, blowing into his ear, quite aware of the fact that Dante was holding his breath.  

"Dante, do you want me?"

Letting his eyes flutter lazily open, Dante glanced at Trish oddly.  Disappointed, she asked again.  

"Dante, do you want me?"

Torn between losing himself in pleasure and answering, the young demon felt himself nod.  Apparently, Trish wanted a verbal answer, because no sooner had he nodded that she, for the third time, asked, "Dante, do you want me?"

Realization seemed to suddenly dawn on Dante; opening wide eyes, he struggled in Trish's grasp and tore her imbedded fingers from his wrist.  

"Get dressed," he ordered, aware that she was liable to shrug off the towel she had been wearing.  

"No!" came the rebellious reply, coupled with an eerie growl.  

No?  Dante approached Trish and ignored the drawling smile on her lips.  Towering above her, he raised up his palm and made to strike her.  He saw the fear flashing in the girl's eyes despite the smirk decorating her pouty mouth.  

"Trish," he called soothingly, keeping his eyes locked onto hers.  

( * * * )

A/N:     I understand there may be some confusion regarding this chapter-especially with the "Do you Love me," sequence.  Well, according to the bible, Jesus asks Peter whether he loves him 3 times.  In the small snippet here, Trish does the same with Dante, only he notices the implications and realizes it is a demon making mockery of it.  I hope this doesn't offend anyone.


	5. Return

_Title:_ Demons Don't Feel, but Humans do

_By:_Metis  
_E-mail  _m_metis@hotmail.com 

_Rating:_  PG-13

_Comments:_I'm not particularly sure _were_ I want this story to go; I mean, I don't want it to just drag on and bore you guys…  
   
  


_*Chapter 5—Return*_

"Trish?" Dante tried, his voice steady as he pinned Trish roughly by the shoulders and pressed her against the plaster wall.  Though his grip succeeded in subduing the demon within her, all the answer his inquiry received was an un-amused growl.  

"Trish?" he tried again, this time leaning in closer in hopes of catching another glimpse of her true self.  Although the demon may have possessed the better part of her body, Dante knew Trish had been trained well enough not to give up a battle all that easily.  Maybe if he shook her…

Placing a firm hand over her mouth, Dante positioned his right palm securely at her abdomen.  He really wished he could've done anything else, but the way things were, all he could try and do were to expulse the demon.  Dante felt himself growl in anger.  That would require large amounts of energy that he wasn't sure he could risk losing.  It wasn't that it would tire him out; no, he was just cautious of the fact that such a large energy release would attract others.  His energy would stand out like a light-house among the more weak-willed energies of the humans around him.  Apart from that, Dante had been hoping to save his energy for an emergency—which he was sure—would happen soon.

Letting his eyes flutter closed, Dante summoned all his energies about his upturned palm and began an ancient chant.  He didn't know were he had actually learned it; all he knew was that it came from the very depths of his soul.  Dante was like that:  it was common for him to possess abilities he had never learned.  They just came to him.  It was all instinctual, really…

"Cursed, despised creature, return to the spirit world and to what you are…Like a common thief, exit this botched robbery of a soul and return…return to the spirit world and to what you are…Hannaei…Chiket…Anhaii…"

Still chanting, Dante shifted his gaze away from Trish's eyes, trying to avoid the blank expression that lay there.  Although he could sense that the demon was a strong one, Dante was aware that it was weakening.  _A little more…_

With a final surge of energy, the silver-haired man felt himself falter as his fingertips lost their grip on Trish.  He cursed evenly under his breath, closing his eyes and drawing in a lengthy breath as the young woman molded herself vulnerably against his chest.  Dante knew, somehow, that whatever had possessed her body had been expulsed, but was puzzled on how to react to it.  The fact was, having Trish in such a tender embrace was beginning to make him uncomfortable.  She wasn't the type to be held—wasn't the type to be _anything_ but tough.  If there was anything Dante had learned about Trish in all the time they'd been partnered together, it was that she disliked being helped in any way—in her own words, she didn't need, "any pity."

As soon as he felt her fists tightening against his chest, Dante loosened the mild grip he had on her and took a step backwards.  He scanned her face quickly, searching for her eyes, and felt slightly breathless when he caught her gaze.  She was dazed, Dante guessed, eyeing her pouty mouth as she drew in a lengthy, stabilizing breath.  

Blinking clear blue eyes at him, and later down at herself, Trish felt her mouth widen into an astonished scowl.  Her moves sudden and uncontrolled, she gathered the shards that remained of her towel about herself, and glared furiously at Dante.  

In a move very much unlike himself, the silver-haired demon found himself raising two hands in his defense.  Not that it would do much.  Trish was near committing homicide.  "What the hell am I…"

Dante had to smirk despite himself.  He had known she would have a foggy memory about the incident, but he hadn't thought she would forget altogether.  Trish, rather mortified, raised an eyebrow. 

"Look, Dante—"

_*  To Be Continued * _


	6. Partners Don't

_Title:_ Demons Don't Feel, but Humans do

_By:_Metis  
_E-mail  _Metisseraph@aol.com  

_Comments:_Okay…hope ya guys like! 

*Ahem* pretty long…and not as limey as I would've wanted it to be, but all in due time, my friends--

_*Chapter 6—Partner's Don't…*_

It had taken quite a while, but Dante had, thankfully, managed to convince Trish that he hadn't brainwashed her into stripping before his eyes.  He did, however, keep the story of her possession to himself.  He didn't think Trish would appreciate it, or that she would be satisfied with herself knowing that she had been used without her knowledge.  Regardless, Dante had been keeping a rather close watch on his partner ever since the incident which, to date, had been a little over a month ago.  

He had suggested, much to Trish's chagrin and misinterpretation, that the two be stationed in a mutual living space in order to prevent future attacks.  It was nothing out of the ordinary—the two boarding together—it was one of the advantages, or drawbacks as they sometimes believed, of being "business partners."

However, with Dante's proposition, the living arrangements held a sort of permanence to and about them, that both were more than uneasy about.  Granted, the silver-haired youth was much less expressionless than Trish when it came to voicing discomforts, but that certainly did not mean he wasn't having his share of doubts about 'living' with Trish.  All sorts of things came along with sharing a house—or what Dante preferred to call a shell.  In Dante's eyes, a house was something useless and unnecessary and its only purpose was to protect or 'house' the weaker human form.  In his own words, he would, "sooner live in a shell than rely on a worthless piece of brick…"

To make the arrangements even worse, they hadn't received a single customer during the entire month that they'd been sheltered together.  

Trish, being the more perceptive one of the two, was bustling with hidden anxiety.  She knew, despite the little Dante had bothered to say, that something more had occurred the night she'd awakened wearing nothing more than a skimpy towel.  She had recurring dreams about the episode often to know it held more meaning than a dream; yet every morning, she woke with no recollection of its contents.  All she was left with was a lingering feeling of despair.  She always awoke with an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach; always with a bitter aftertaste.  That particular night, she had awakened _because_ of the dream.  It had startled her awake and, being troubled enough by it, she had forced herself to sit upright and try to recall what it had been about.  But her thoughts were muddled, and whenever she tried to bring up a mental picture, Trish drew a blank.  

As with all the other times she had awakened as a result of the disturbing dream, all her mind remembered was a bright, reddish light that had at first burned, and later soothed her body.  She had felt it concentrating on her chest, its bubbling, tingling texture exciting her despite the fact that her body seemed to recoil at the sensation.  "What _is_ this…?"

( * * *)

"They say it's a ghost spirit," Trish told Dante, lips tightening into a thin, amused line.  Dante, in turn, raised a disappointed eyebrow.  That was all?  After having battled countless demons powerful enough to dethrone Zeus himself, they were resorting to taking cases regarding _specters_?!

"Tell them," Dante began irately, "that they can take their 'ghost spirit' and shove it right up their tight asses."

Trish, disgusted enough with Dante's recent silence to be pleased at his misfortune, raised curious eyebrows.  A cranky Dante?  That would certainly be a sight…

"Take you pick then, Dante…because it's either that or _fairies._"

Fairies?!  Dante, momentarily outraged and not particularly sure whether Trish was joking, blinked silver eyes blankly.  When had 'fairies' ever been something to fear?  As far as he remembered all he'd ever had to do had been breathe and every creature around him that might've been a threat dropped dead.  Furthermore…did fairies even _exist?_  He wasn't quite sure what to think anymore—he was a demon, which meant angels existed…but _fairies??_  Someone had to be playing a trick on him…

"Send them all to hell—"

"What curse does that involve, then, because I don't—"

A glare was all Dante needed to shoot in Trish's direction before she got the message; he was most certainly not in the mood to be played with.  Shrugging, the tall blonde purposely strode over past Dante and locked herself into her quarters.  Maybe a nap would calm her down…

_Kill him…_

Trish shifted in her sleep, a deep frown wrinkling her forehead.

_Destroy him…_

Somehow, the sheets managed to tangle about Trish's lithe form, concentrating themselves around her neck.

_Kill him…before he kills you._

Kicking at the air, the blonde took in a sudden ragged breath as two hands tightened around her throat.

_Dante's going to kill you…unless_

Now swinging her arms wildly and desperately, Trish fixated them upon the nonexistent fingers pushing steadily against her neck, closing and obstructing her breathing passages.

_Kill him first…_

The fingers tightened…tightened…tightened…

Trish could no longer breathe; her eyes widened against her will as her heart slowly ceased to beat…no pulse—no heat—no life…

_Kill him first…_

Taking in a sudden gasp, Trish sat bolt upright, hands flying instinctively towards her neck, eager to rub at and protect what had been targeted and attacked moments earlier.  Her eyes wide and bewildered, she looked about the dark room, her fingertips flying underneath her pillow and tightening around a gun's handle.

What had that been?  It had felt so real…as if there had been actual fingertips—actual hands gripping at her throat.  And what had the voice said?  To kill him?  To kill who?  And who was going to kill her if she didn't, certainly not Dante…

Trish's brow furrowed in puzzlement.  She would've dismissed the scenario entirely as a nightmare if she hadn't known the importance dreams had played in her situation so far; she would have disregarded it altogether if it hadn't been for the dreams she'd been having lately.  Apart from that…it had been too clear—to realistic to be nothing but a dream.  Even more, the fact that she actually _remembered_ what had happened was something out of the ordinary as well…

Suddenly, all the lamps in the room were flicked on, and Trish found herself bathed in absolute light.  In an instant, her gun was pointed squarely at her target, the safety lock off and ready for fire.  After squinting for a few seconds, however, she leisurely let the gun fall against her thigh, an expression of relief in her gray eyes.

"What is it, Dante?" she questioned tiredly, not particular to waking up and finding a demon in her bedroom, watching her for who knew how long.  

Ignoring her tone, Dante studied the young woman suspiciously.  She'd been screaming in her sleep, or so he'd figured after he'd run into her room, thankful the shouts had been brought on by a nightmare as opposed to a marionette.  However, once he'd calmed down enough to listen to what she had been saying, he'd been more than surprised.  Dante had watched on, unfazed, as he saw Trish struggle with the air, bringing up hands to fight and defend against nothing—he'd seen how she'd kicked against the sheets, how she'd struggled to breathe—how she'd remained still, as if dead…but all along, Dante had known she was and would be fine—because he could see his power still inside her.  He had been experienced enough to know that after the earlier possession of her body, the demons searching her out wouldn't disappear.  So, he'd made sure to keep a small flame of his power ignited within her to ward off possible attacks or possessions.  Thankfully, it had been enough to keep whatever had attacked her just now at bay.

"What did it say?" was all he bothered to answer, his tone cold and foreboding.

Trish only shrugged, slightly unnerved at Dante's accuracy when it came to guessing what had happened.  

"Something along the lines of killing me?"

It was a good guess…

Head snapping up, Trish narrowed steely eyes up at the taller demon.  Then, without warning, she gripped her metal gun firmly in both hands and aimed in steadily at Dante.  

"You know that won't work, Trish."

"So what if it doesn't?"  Trish slowly and cautiously rose from her bed, her gun trained on Dante the whole time.  As her long slender legs slid out from beneath her, a smooth, white shirt trailed down past her knees, covering her body quite unsuccessfully.  

Almost of their own will, Dante's eyes began trailing hungrily down her voluptuous body, his breath quickening despite his efforts to remain unperturbed.  Aware of his gaze, Trish whisked around quickly, grabbing onto her sheets and winding them thickly about her.  "Don't look at me like that, Dante."

"Why not?"  The question, which he had never meant to escape his thoughts, was voiced before he had a chance to realize exactly what it he had said.

"What happened that night?"

Dante was taken off guard by the question.  He hadn't thought she'd be able to remember what had taken place—much less that she'd been aware of it all from the beginning.  Dante remained silent, not bothering to say anything, as his only response would be one she wouldn't like to hear.  "Do you remember anything at all about it?"

Narrowing her eyes, Trish craned her neck tentatively.  She hadn't expected such a direct answer from him.  

"No…" Trish lowered the gun but took a step forward toward Dante.

"You don't remember, doing this?" In the split second the words had escaped the half-demon's lips, he had closed the distance between them and pushed Trish roughly against a neighboring wall, his hand restraining her movements by capturing both her wrists within it and settling them inches above her head.  The woman's eyes widened desperately as the contact sent electrifying shivers throughout her body, and felt a thick blush make its way toward her cheeks.  

"And this…?"

His lips, hungry and aching, ravaged her mouth, reminding her of that night…except—except that she had been the one kissing him—except that she had been the one pinning him down…

Bewildered at the memory that abruptly attacked her senses, Trish pulled away quickly from the kiss, her eyes wide at the realization.  Fingertips tightening against the fabric of Dante's shirt, the young girl pushed roughly against his chest.  No…She would never—not with Dante…They were just, just partners—

"And you don't remember…holding me?  Touching me?"  As he spoke, the silver-haired man's hands roamed her body tentatively.  He was careful not to trespass boundaries—Dante would never dream of caressing her intimately without consent.  He might be a demon, a mercenary, and a hormonal male, but he had a certain code of honor, which, were he ever to betray, would return to hunt him down.  

Oblivious to his internal ranting, Trish let blue eyes flutter lazily shut.  She wanted to recall what Dante was talking about with such candidness and confidence; wanted desperately to remember all details—but, despite her efforts, her mind drew a blank.  Granted, she remembered having _been_ with him, she saw herself sprawled over him in flashes, but she had little idea of how far they might have gotten…of what had been said.  

Feeling smooth lips alight on her neck, and recognizing the danger they posed not only to her resolve and feminism, but to her physical well being as well, Trish cleared her throat loudly.  She hoped that would jolt Dante from his ministrations.  It didn't.  She did, however, know that his kissing her on the neck, could, and very well might, lead to dangerous consequences.  _'Demons thirst for blood,'_ she remembered hearing from the half-demon himself, _'and sometimes I feel like I need it…so—if, if I ever do anything—just stop me.'_

As what had started as a soft butterfly kiss against her neck became heavy suckling, Dante's voice rang anew in her head.  _'I never know what I can end up doing.  Just—stop me…'_

"Dante—stop."

Struggling against his weight, and realizing her remark had produced no effect on the gray-eyed halfling, Trish balled her fists against his chest and turned her neck away, repeating the request in a slightly more desperate tone.  Luckily, he heeded the second demand.  She felt him stiffen against her, almost as if he were battling within himself, before releasing a lengthy breath.  Then, obediently albeit reluctantly, Dante removed his arms from about Trish's waist and lifted his weight off hers.  

Momentarily, as she gathered herself, Trish looked into Dante's eyes a bit uncertainly.  They were darkened, she noted, darkened with desire and passion and…and thirst.  Although it had been almost indecipherable at first, Trish now detected a vague reddish haze outlining the very edges of his silvery iris.  _'…and I wake up and see what I've done; after the drinking…after the killing is gone—I wake up and I don't quite remember.  So I drift, drift until I've regained some sort of recognition of what I am and how I've gotten there.'_

Vaguely, Trish realized that the outburst Dante had just had was very similar to the ones she had entertained when she had been possessed by that demon.  So, was that how it felt for Dante?  Not being able to control his emotions?  Not knowing where or at what consequence he would end up…?  _'…but don't worry.  I can usually control it.  It's never been a problem when I want to curb it; when I know I can't just kill a partner.'  That last remark had been muttered with a slight smile._

Suddenly and very unwillingly, Trish found herself thrust into a new facet of Dante she wasn't sure she wanted to explore.  She had always been, for the larger part, satisfied in aiding Dante as she could, not particularly minding much about his habits, or his past, and most certainly not his heritage.  She had taken his emotions for granted, guessing his cold persona and ancestry were just the way he was—and were the only characteristics he possessed.  Of course, she had been wrong, but she hadn't realized it.

"I kissed you?"  Trish asked breathlessly, wanting to break the heavy silence that had sunk in.  A slight nod.  An indifferent shrug.  Why should she care that she had kissed Dante?  It had been in a state of stupor—she had been unable to control her body, so why should she feel embarrassed?  Why was she blushing?  Dante knew and understood it hadn't been her that night, so why had he kissed her now?

"Not you, exactly."

"And…what else…did I do?"

Dante raised an amused eyebrow at the question.  What else had she done?  "What do you mean?"

"Did I…disrespect you?  Do things partners don't do?"

An amused smirk crossed the man's lips, "You didn't do anything I wouldn't've wanted."

_*  To Be Continued * _

A _tad_ to long, I think, but I hoped you guys liked.  I'm finally back on track with the story and I have a pretty good idea of where its going.  


	7. Beast

_Title: _ Demons Don't Feel, but Humans do

_By:  _Metis  
_E-mail  _Metisseraph@aol.com  

_Comments: _Okay…hope ya guys like! 

*Ahem*  very very mild lime…If you guys want actual LIME ask for it…I won't know otherwise ^_^!!

_*Chapter 7—Beast*_

"So…"

Dante raised an eyebrow at Trish's frail attempt at conversation.  Granted he had known she would begin to question the events that had transpired in due time, but he didn't expect her to try and analyze it the minute she had the chance.  Dante had been hoping she would just let go of the entire situation; forget she'd ever kissed him, and forget he'd ever reciprocated. 

"Did you try and stop me?"

Somehow, Trish's question was answered even before it was voiced.  She could see, rather plainly, the lust that gleamed freely in the man's eyes; she could see his gray eyes turn silver with desire as they raked over her slim form, now exposed after she'd dropped the sheet.  "Did you?"

Again, only silence greeted her as Dante's lithe form stood and headed towards the door.  He spun on his heel abruptly, silvery tresses shielding the thoughts in his eyes, and whispered an indifferent, careless, "No."

He hadn't been planning on responding, Trish knew.  Dante was the type that would do things his way, at his time, under his rules.  His answering to her question had been a favor on his part—he'd only done it because Trish had wanted to know so fervently.  Otherwise, he wouldn't have cared.  All of a sudden Trish felt constricted—overprotected.  She seemed to suddenly remember why she'd been angry at him in the first place.  What _right_ did he have to enter _her_ room without _her knowledge_ and then leave?!

"Dante!"  Trish called out warningly after the mercenary, stumbling in her haste to go after him.  She could hear his footsteps clearly echoing down the staircase, the slight 'thud' being made in pure consideration.  Dante _didn't_ make a sound when he walked; he only humored her with it so that she wouldn't be frightened at his ability to sneak up on her.  It was something he'd always done.  Trish had never though much about it. 

"Dante!"  Trish finally griped when the footsteps gave no signs of slowing, their fading sounds alerting Trish to the fact that he was no longer in the living room, where the stairs ended.  He wasn't in the mood to wait up for her, Trish guessed.  And if he didn't want to wait, there was no way she'd catch up.  

Sighing, Trish pushed the recent events out of her mind, and leisurely made her way down the steps, moving towards the kitchen.  It was a depressing sight.  One would think that, being part human, Dante would have enough sense to know that his body wasn't immune to dirt and grime; but no, the supple warrior didn't seem to find it fit to have a neat apartment—if it could even be called that…

There were no curtains—why bother with them?  They would only lessen visibility of the outside world, and in doing so make it easier for the enemy to infiltrate.  Riiiiight…Trish hated Dante's practical approach with a passion.  She liked to do things in the spur of the moment—fight intensely, with her life…not wait and wait and wait until the situation was seen fit for a higher chance of success.  But, with her luck, Dante had proved to be quite her opposite, planning their mercenary missions to the very last detail.  Granted, sometimes he threw caution to the wind, acting on part of his more demonic self and simply honed in for the kill, not particularly intent on the results…but those occasions were rare, and an out of control Dante was even rarer…if not scarier.  

If the state of his apartment wasn't bad enough, his refrigerator should have been considered sufficiently dangerous to produce deadly bacteria and the possible eradication of humankind altogether.  Trish held her breath and sighed a bit uncharacteristically at its contents.  Milk—sour no doubt, bread (stale, of course) and…cheese?  

At first Trish had wondered why Dante needed to eat.  He was a demon after all.  Then, she'd felt ridiculous when she remembered he was only _partially_ so.  Still, she would've thought his demonic side to be stronger than that…then again, with the way his hormones shone through, there was clear evidence of both natures in him.

His earlier actions had been thoroughly distracting.  Even now, Trish could still feel his strong, muscular arms about her waist; could feel his lips on hers…body molded into her.  Letting her eyes flutter closed, she pressed her forehead against the cool, smooth surface of the freezer top.  She could remember his reaction to her as well…

A vague blush teased her pale cheeks at the thought.  She had known men before Dante well enough, and she was aware, as a result of it, that a hardening of the nether regions on their part usually signified a sexual interest.  But feeling such a reaction from Dante had unsettled her.  Playful flirtation was entirely different from what she had felt back in the bedroom…What _had_ she felt back there, anyway.  Lust?—well, yes, to say that Dante wasn't desirable would be an obvious lie…

But…

Trish shook her head to try and clear it.  Then again…she _had_ felt something back there, and Trish was certain it wasn't love—lust, perhaps—but love, no…she didn't think so.  Regardless, there wasn't much she could do on the matter.  His words still rung clearly in her ears.  _'…I can kill without taking any note of it…'_

Shuddering slightly, Trish tried somewhat desperately to deny the validity of the kiss they'd shared.  Though, it was pretty much in vain.  As much as Trish would've liked to disregard Dante's actions as being trivial to their entire situation, she knew better than that.  Like she'd heard somewhere in a human magazine, 'one kiss was an accident, two was a relationship.'  Trish scoffed.  As far as she figured, they'd had more than their share or excusable kisses.  

Meanwhile, downstairs in the dark damp basement of his apartment, Dante evenly glared at the wall opposite him.  His human side was starting to take over much more than he would've liked…or at least the hormonal aspect of them.  Though, if he were to attribute certain characteristics to his ancestry, he'd have to say his demon half was the one more responsible for his sudden bouts of lust…But he usually had enough sense to control himself.

Running a wary hand through silver locks, Dante bit his lip and let his gaze wander toward the ceiling as he laid back against a couch.  What on _earth_ had happened upstairs?  When he had come into Trish's bedroom earlier that night, he had never intended on touching her the way he had.  And as if that weren't bad enough, he had _responded_ to the contact.  Groaning, he felt mortification set it.

Obviously, being both a hormone-driven male and a lustful demon in one, he'd had his lot of admirers—and encounters with them as well—but he had always drawn a line where a colleague was concerned, and Trish, regardless of the trade in which they were partners, was a partner just as well.  It wasn't what bothered him most about it, though.  The fact that really gnashed at him, was that he _knew_ that she had felt his arousal.  It would've been fine if she hadn't, then Dante might've been able to overcome his slight show of weakness, but _she had_ taken note of it—fact made quite obvious by her startled gasp.  

If Dante could blush, this'd be the moment his cheeks would be flaming red.

He glanced down morosely at the burden between his legs, baring irritated fangs, and, thinking of Trish, _dared_ himself to become even the least bit aroused. Gods if he did…well then, that'd be the end of it for him.  Dante simply refused to surrender such control for the simple purpose of succumbing to a physical need.  Never.  He would _never_ do that.  Then…

Dante growled.  Much to his discomfort, he could feel a familiar tingle begin to settle at the juncture of his thighs.  "Shit," he breathed out, squeezing closed red-rimmed silver eyes as a burning sensation began to inconsiderately pulse throughout his body, shamelessly deciding to concentrate itself about his manhood.  

Swallowing thickly, he felt his fingertips begin to twitch.  Gods, no.  Shaking his head abruptly, Dante let in an unsteady breath.  It was too hot all of a sudden.  He glanced around anxiously.  He couldn't go out now—not with those blasted marionettes dancing around all over the place—and with his only option of escape barred, it didn't seem he'd be able to seek much release that night.  Usually when he was overwhelmed by that physical need, Dante was able to go out—find a lonely girl…and experiences prostitute…there was always something that could satiate his urges…but—damn, Trish had left him too blistering a longing to even be able to think straight.  He was half willing to throw himself out into the night, regardless of any demonic things that may lay there. 

Besides, that lonely girl sitting at the bus stop or that sultry looking prostitute at the corner was expendable to him; Trish wasn't.  Dante knew well enough that once he had drawn his satisfaction from either, they'd be sucked dry of life, their bodies lifeless against him, long before he'd even finished with them.  That was his curse—whenever he sought release with a human, they'd die at his ministrations, their emotions and bodies drained at the exertion.  His satisfaction came at the death of another.  He avoided it, yes, but even he wasn't the type to deny his body that type of indulgement when it begged for it.

"Gods…"

His tone was getting to become more reckless than he would've liked.  As if in a trance, he swiftly made his way up the dark stairs, heart pounding loudly against his chest.  It throbbed throughout his body with every step he took and every thought that flitted through his mind.  

Step.  Thump.  Step.  Thump.  Step.  Thu—

"Dante?"

Trish glanced curiously at the young man that was dazedly climbing the last couple of steps into the living room foyer.  His eyes swerved detachedly in her direction, their expression hazily muddled.  She had been lounging in the kitchen, dozing a bit, when she had heard an inhumane growl.  Knowing Dante as much as she did, she'd figured it'd come from him, and was heading toward it when she'd caught sight of his silvery hair.  

"What's going on?  Are you—"

Trish didn't have much time to finish, as Dante had pinned her roughly against the door, lips lost immediately against the niche of her neck.  His fingertips roamed carelessly over the fabric of her blouse, nipping roughly against its buttons, trying hastily to undo them.  Eyes wide at his actions, Trish tried weakly to push him away, indignant protests dying in her throat when his cool hands finally made their way underneath her shirt.  Gods…

_Let go…_

Eyes fluttering closed, Trish relaxed against Dante's continuing onslaught against her, mouth open slightly in an attempt to draw in air.  She knew she shouldn't be with him as she was now…lost in his arms—hands tangled desperately in his silky hair…but all logical thoughts had fled her mind and, in all honesty, she didn't want to think right then, either.

"Dante…"  her words were breathed out, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Deepening his kiss, Dante traced silken fingertips down the length of her forearm, feeling the throbbing pulse of his heart recommence its pounding.  It was deafening. 

Not sure what came over her, Trish pushed the young man away by the shoulder, taking in his swollen lips, tousled hair and quavering breaths.  He was positively distracting.  One look at him, and she was sent into fits of desire.  Feeling her studying gaze, Dante blinked open silvery eyes and, once again, Trish was surprised to discover the red tint that outlined them.  Unlike the previous time, however, she now found the redness disturbingly enticing.  It was drawing her in…begging her for closure…

Melting against him with an inaudible groan, Trish was only mildly aware of the smooth palms that did away with her black shirt.  She couldn't make things out anymore; she was lost in the sensations Dante's hands were wreaking on her body.  Rough lips against her collarbone…calloused digits dexterously kneading her breasts…unsteady gasps of air landing recklessly against her neck…

With every exposed part of her body came an ambush of kisses, caresses, and nips.  Trish sighed and closed her eyes, concentrating on the heat radiating from the demon's body.  It was as if she were in a dream, all thought muddled…all consciousness slipping away…

His essence was so alluring.  All she could think off was the sudden thrill racing through her veins.  Trish remembered the sensation from somewhere before…but who cared? Then suddenly, her breath caught in her throat.  Her pleasure all too quickly dissolved into terror.  Out of some inkling of perception still left within her, Trish became awkwardly aware of the lack of control in her body…of its sudden weakness—its abrupt coolness.  She could, very blatantly, feel Dante's heat practically smothering her…but, at the same time, she was alert as to how cold her own skin was.

_Let go…_

Heeding the voice, Trish felt her limbs relax…

_Let go…_

She was falling back into the abyss of pleasure she'd been…

Trish let her eyes flicker closed once more.  Dante's fingertips had made their way down her front and had made easily work of her bra.  They drifted passionately down her toned stomach and stopped only at the waistband of her jeans.  The halfling had quite of a bit of a problem getting the jeans loose once he was there, and a loud growl jolted Trish awake.  The sense of terror struck her once more…

And, just like the previous times, a reassuring voice came to her ears…

_Let go…Give into it…_

Wet lips disappeared between the valley of her breasts.

_…Pleasure comes from it…_

A small gasp as languid fingers worked off tight jeans…

And then…

Trish snapped her eyes wide open when her heart constricted painfully against her chest.  Opening her mouth, she tried to let out a cry, only to find she couldn't speak…only to realize she was drifting away.  It was almost as if something had wrapped itself tightly about her soul—and she couldn't pull away from it.  And, just as she struggled against the unseen force, Trish had the strange desire to fall back into that relaxation…that voice she kept hearing—it was like a drug; it kept drawing her in.

_*  To Be Continued *_


End file.
